


Almost a Day Off

by YamiTami



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Domestic, Fluff and Smut, Intimacy Issues Ahoy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiTami/pseuds/YamiTami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hmph. Finally decide to come in here and help me?”</p><p>“I’ve been tending to the books, thank you,” Newkirk shot back. Neither of them was particularly keen on doing the dishes; odds were they’d end up cycling through the same set they’d been making do with even after the kitchen was put to rights. The only difference would be the addition of a kettle and possibly a sharp knife or two. </p><p>“Right.” Newkirk couldn’t see Hogan’s face but he could hear the eyeroll. For the Englishman’s part he lingered in the doorway. That had something to do with avoiding the job of rinsing but was mostly about being in a place in a relationship he’d never been in before and being unsure of how to proceed.</p><p>He decided to follow his instincts, and at that moment his instincts were reminding him of how much his flatmate enjoyed having the back of his neck kissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost a Day Off

Newkirk surveyed what boxes and crates still remained stacked in the living room; he and Hogan had moved into the little London flat nearly a month prior but they were both so busy that there was still much to be unpacked. It was a rare quiet day where there was not much to do between the information they had and the information they were due to receive so the two men were able to return to their home at a decent hour. Newkirk did not particularly want to unpack—in fact, there was nothing he wanted more than to turn on the radio and curl up on the couch with a hot cup and a certain American officer. But the couch was covered in half-unpacked boxes of books and the kettle still rested under a variety of kitchen implements that they rarely used. Newkirk didn’t remember who packed that particular mess but it had to have been Hogan; no proper Englishman would pack his only teakettle underneath a mixing bowl and whisk that only saw use when his proper Frenchman friend decided that dinner was in order.

They’d been getting by on the three plates, one bowl, two mugs, one tumbler, three forks, two spoons, and a butter knife. They managed to wrestle that lot from the tangle on their first night in the new flat. In the first week Mavis had taken a long look at the collection and declared it the perfect bachelor assortment with her customary grin. By the middle of the third week that had shifted to a shake of the head and a half-heard comment about how the two of them were a joint-venture disaster. Miss Newkirk then nagged Sergeant Newkirk half to death about the lack of a proper kettle and how it didn’t taste the same if the water was boiled in a saucepan (the only other kitchen implement which had been retrieved from the tangle). Newkirk felt sore at Hogan for missing the brunt of Mavis’s ire right up until he remembered that Hogan was still Marya’s favorite. Mavis had her days, but she was no mad Russian.

So, even though neither of them was particularly fond of the idea, Newkirk and Hogan both buckled down and attempted to put their house in order. After a brief argument Hogan was exiled to the kitchen to wash, dry, and stow every plate and fork they owned—in the process of getting the place livable they’d managed to rain displaced dust into almost all of the kitchen boxes—while Newkirk sorted out the bookshelf so they’d actually have a couch. By the time he finished that Hogan was still working on the dishes. While Newkirk would march right into the jaws of death without hesitation for that man, dishes didn’t quite come under that heading so he busied himself with the boxes full of non-essentials. There were the records, the clock, a box of various spare office supplies, the lamps they’d been doing without, and a few other such things. 

Then Newkirk came across a box of his personals. A souvenirs from the war, knick knacks given to him by friends, the bulk of his knife collection wrapped up in a towel. Newkirk carried the box back to the bedroom and it wasn’t until he was setting down on the bed that he realized which room he’d walked into on automatic. The room that, subconsciously, he thought of as ‘his’.

He left the box where it was and walked back to the kitchen, where Hogan was busy with two and a half sets worth of bowls. At the sound of Newkirk’s footsteps he half glanced over his shoulder.

“Hmph. Finally decide to come in here and help me?”

“I’ve been tending to the books, thank you,” Newkirk shot back. Neither of them was particularly keen on doing the dishes; odds were they’d end up cycling through the same set they’d been making do with even after the kitchen was put to rights. The only difference would be the addition of a kettle and possibly a sharp knife or two. 

“Right.” Newkirk couldn’t see Hogan’s face but he could hear the eyeroll. For the Englishman’s part he lingered in the doorway. That had something to do with avoiding the job of rinsing but was mostly about being in a place he’d never been in before and being unsure of how to proceed.

He decided to follow his instincts, and at that moment his instincts were reminding him of how much his flatmate enjoyed having the back of his neck kissed.

Hogan’s scrubbing faltered when lean arms slid around his waist. He managed to recover and keep at the task even when Newkirk got his collar out of the way with a gentle tug of teeth, though his dishwashing did slow considerably once soft lips were added to the equation.

“What’s the occasion?” Hogan asked, his voice low and filled with promise.

Newkirk slid a hand up to toy with the top button on Hogan’s shirt. “Given ‘ow long we’ve let all this sit I think that getting anything unpacked is an occasion.”

Hogan chuckled. His hands had stilled and Newkirk felt a surge of smug pride; Hogan was no stranger to working under seduction and yet it only took a few simple touches to bring him to a stop. Granted, Newkirk was distracting Hogan from an ill-favored job, but still, he though the speed was impressive.

For a few long moments they simply stood there: Newkirk still kissing the nape of the American’s neck and fiddling with buttons without actually undoing any and Hogan leaning into it with his hands still in the sink full of soapy water. 

“Took back a box of my things earlier,” Newkirk said at last, his words muffled somewhat by Hogan’s skin. “Brought ‘em to your room without thinking about it.”

“It’s your room, too,” Hogan replied fondly. It was true enough; the smaller bedroom and the twin bed that technically belonged to Newkirk hadn’t been slept in once since they moved in. He spent his nights on the left side of the queen that Hogan had bought for himself while Newkirk tagged along to offer objections to anything he didn’t want to help Hogan move into the flat—or at least, that was what they claimed. If Newkirk was being honest then he’d say that the duplicity was starting to wear thin at the seams, but since there wasn’t anything he could do about the way of the world he tried not to focus on it.

“I know it is,” Newkirk answered only after he’d teased a small gasp out of his flatmate via the careful application of teeth. “It’s just... never been a place where I shared a room with someone. Well, I ‘ave, but it’s always been because we had to. Growing up ‘aving to share with my brother, or when Mavis and I first started out and ‘ad to share a bed because there was only room for one mattress...”

Hogan tensed a bit at the mention of Newkirk previously sharing a bed with his ‘sister’. Newkirk shook his head at his lover’s lingering jealousy over how close Newkirk had once been to his partner in crime. Then with a gentle touch to Hogan’s chin he turned his lover’s head so that he could ever so lightly suck at the soft spot under the corner of Hogan’s jaw.

“It’s just different,” Newkirk said between kisses.

“Thinking of bailing out?” Hogan asked. His tone was teasing but Newkirk had known him long enough to know that was how Hogan disguised serious questions.

Newkirk stretched up so that his lips brushed Hogan’s ear. “Not on your life, sir.”

That, apparently, was too much, and Hogan suddenly turned in his lover’s arms. Newkirk’s first reaction was to yell at Hogan as there was suddenly a pair of wet hands dripping soapy water on his hips, but he quickly found that his lips had better things to do. He still managed to drum up some irritation when they pulled away from each other.

“Was it really necessary to soak my ruddy shirt?”

“Sorry,” Hogan mumbled. He might have said it but he sure didn’t sound it.

“It’s chilly in ‘ere, too.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Hogan hummed into his lover’s neck.

“You know, sir, I could catch cold like this.”

Hogan was more concerned with nipping at his lover’s pulse point that to listening to anything that was being said. Newkirk grinned; he was about to make a change to Hogan’s priorities.

“Since you’re the one who put me in this position it’s only fair you be the one to—mmm... oh, that’s nice—only fair you fix it.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“Obviously, you have to get me out of my wet clothes and warm me back up.”

There was a pause of a few seconds during which the only sound was Hogan’s deep, deliberate breaths blowing hot against Newkirk’s throat. Then the American straightened and Newkirk wouldn’t have been surprised to see fire dancing in those dark brown eyes.

“I need to have you in _our_ bed,” Hogan all but growled, pushing Newkirk in the right direction.

Newkirk grinned up at his lover and, instead of moving towards the hall, wound his hands in Hogan’s hair and brought their mouths together for a passionate kiss. Hogan moaned into it and, after leaning too far back into the counter and earning a wet line across the seat of his pants, shuffled them a few feet to the side so that he could press Newkirk against the pantry door. Hogan suddenly jerked away and looked over his shoulder at the kitchen window and Newkirk cursed when he saw that the curtains were still open; it looked out at the brick wall of the next building but they couldn’t afford to be careless no matter how harmless it seemed to be. They’d already learned about open windows the hard way and neither had any desire to repeat the experience.

“Bedroom, now,” Newkirk muttered as he pulled free and attempted to walk back to their room as if he wasn’t dying to get there. He could hear Hogan clearing his throat behind him and then the soft footfalls of the other man following at a short distance. Newkirk glared at the curtains in the living room as he passed. He’d thought it was a good idea to open them for light while he was unpacking, but now it was standing in the way of touching Hogan they way he wanted to. It was one thing to hold each other in front of a window facing a brick wall and another to do it in front of a window facing the street and the opposite building. Once Newkirk crossed into the hallway—and out of sight of the window—he could hear Hogan’s footsteps quicken. Newkirk started walking faster as well; having Hogan catch up with him in the hall sounded wonderful, but he had an even better idea. That’s how he ended up all but sprinting the remaining distance and throwing open the door to the bedroom— _their_ bedroom.

Hogan was close behind. He looked over his shoulder again and then turned and closed the door. Newkirk glared, not at his lover but at the intangible fact that they had to worry about someone seeing them hold hands through the window. That was an old splinter, though, with scar tissue long since grown thick around the irritation and it therefore easily ignored out of long habit. It was particularly easy in that moment as Newkirk had something much more interesting to focus on.

The door was closing at a slow and steady pace, something which to some might indicate reluctance on the part of the man closing it but Newkirk knew his Colonel. It was the same deceptive calm before the storm he’d seen time and time again when Hogan was taking a deep breath to calm himself, the deliberate and measured way he’d walk across the floor while swallowing his temper—except in this case, Hogan was holding back an entirely different kind of fire.

Newkirk threw some petrol on the flame and let it burn.

The last couple inches of gap remaining between the door and the frame snapped shut as Newkirk slammed into Hogan and pinned him to the wood. Hogan groaned as nimble fingers made short work of his belt buckle and then slid under the waistband of his trousers. Newkirk kept his hands on either side of his lover’s hips, wandering forward just a bit and then pulling back before reaching anywhere truly interesting.

“If I may ask, what’s the special occasion?”

Hogan was definitely aiming for levity and his usual disarming charm, but what came out was more along the lines of breathless. Newkirk grinned into the back of his lover’s shirt; when he was issued his first stripe he wouldn’t have thought he’d fall into such a tired old quirk but as fate would have it he doubted he’d ever get over the thrill of making an officer squirm. It was particularly thrilling when it was Colonel Hogan, the infamous Papa Bear himself, with his cheek pressed to the door and his voice catching.

Newkirk chuckled low. “Well, this is the closest thing to a day off we’ve ‘ad in months. I think that’s occasion enough.”

“So anytime we get something that is almost a day off I’m going to find myself lurching forward into a counter or door while you make your intention to celebrate known?”

“What can I say, sir?” Newkirk reached around and squeezed Hogan through his trousers. “I fancy you like this.”

“Like this, huh?” Hogan arched into the touch and huffed in disappointment when Newkirk withdrew his hand. “That’s a position I can get behind. Or, one that you can get behind.”

It took a few seconds for Newkirk to parse through what the other man had just offered. It was a fresh wave of desire and while he was distracted by the lovely mental image Hogan shoved off against the door and spun to grab his lover. The kiss was wild and sloppy and there was far too much clicking of teeth in their haste—neither would have changed it for anything. Newkirk stumbled back and Hogan stumbled after him. When the back of Newkirk’s knees hit the bed he went sprawling... directly onto the box he’d placed their earlier.

Newkirk groaned as a corner dug painfully into the small of his back. He rolled to the side and then sat up, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and glared at the offending object. Hogan glared too and grabbed it one handed to sling it to the floor but when he saw what was sitting inside he caught it as it fell and carefully set it down. Newkirk felt a warmth altogether different from the more familiar lustful heat. It was a cozier, seeping warmth, like a good cup on a cold day, brought on by the care Hogan took with the bits and bobs that were his mementos.

It was dangerous territory that Newkirk wasn’t yet willing to cross into, or at least, that he wasn’t willing to admit he’d crossed into, so he put it out of his mind and focused on the weight of the man climbing on top of him even as he was urged further up on the bed. Hogan straddled his hips and Newkirk hauled him down by the collar for a passionate kiss. When they pulled apart Hogan was far enough into flustered that his hands shook as he fought with Newkirk’s buttons.

“’aving trouble, there, gov’?” Newkirk grinned. “Eagar, aren’t we?”

“If not for the fact that I know how much you’d complain while you sewed it back together I’d just rip the damn thing off,” Hogan growled. He finally got all the buttons undone and he leaned back to take in the sight of Newkirk lying under him. Slowly, as though he was savoring a fine wine, Hogan ran fingertips along the lines of Newkirk’s throat and collarbone, across his chest and stomach, all the way down to linger on the fine trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his pants. “Do you have any idea how good you look like this?”

Newkirk did have a half-formed joke in mind—it’s not as though the bantering between them ever stopped—but the irreverent comment about Renaissance nudes died on his tongue at the solemn sincerity in Hogan’s words. Newkirk swallowed hard and then reached up to grab Hogan’s knee, rubbing the inside with his thumb and watching his lover lick his lips at the sensation.

“If I look ‘alf as good as you do right now,” Newkirk whispered at last, “then I can see why you stick around.”

Hogan opened his eyes and grinned. “I stick around for more than your pretty face. Trust me.”

“Trust the greatest manipulator of the century?” Newkirk said with a completely straight face, the snark returning. “You must be out of your bleeding mind.”

“You can be so cruel,” Hogan replied with a mock-hurt tone. “Manipulator of the millennia has a better ring to it. Besides, you say that as though you have any right to talk about trustworthiness.”

“Oh?”

“ _Thief_.”

Gilbert had spat that word at Newkirk—both the sergeant and the civilian—often enough that it usually left a sour taste in Newkirk’s mouth. But coming from Hogan with such proud fondness... Newkirk figured he could handle that.

“I suppose you do ‘ave me there, sir,” Newkirk commented idly as he sat up just enough to make short work of the other man’s shirt. He pushed it off Hogan’s shoulders and the flopped back down and made his own visual inspection. “Speaking of illegal, it should be against the law to look like this.”

Hogan shrugged out of his shirtsleeves and tossed his dogtags over his shoulder before leaning down and kissing Newkirk’s cheek. “Are you,” his jaw, “just going,” his chin, “to look,” the corner of his mouth, “or are you—“

Newkirk answered by rolling them over and, taking advantage of his new position with Hogan’s legs on either side of his own, ground his hips down against his lover’s. Hogan clutched at Newkirk’s back as he moaned, something which turned into a growl of frustration when he encountered fabric. Newkirk sat up only far enough to fight his shirt off his arms and then lay back down, enjoying the heat of Hogan’s bare chest against his. They kissed, starting out feverish and winding down to slow, lingering touches as both of them remembered that they didn’t have to hurry. It had been a month of living together but in the heat of the moment they still tended to forget that they didn’t have to factor in a walk home.

So they enjoyed themselves instead of skipping half the fun of foreplay. Newkirk rocked his hips against Hogan’s hard enough to create some pleasant friction but not so much that either of them was in danger of finishing too quickly. Though they’d been living in the same space and sharing the same bed for weeks their encounters still tended to be along the lines of the rushed trysts they were used to. This was partly due to the time constraints upon a pair of men trying to uncover an international revenge plot but mostly due to well-worn habit; when one’s romance is secret one tends not to linger. Newkirk reveled in the favorable change of pace and he didn’t hurry to push things to the next stage just yet. For the moment, he was happy just kissing his lover and enjoying the feel of Hogan’s arms around him.

While Hogan was certainly enjoying things as well he wasn’t quite as content as Newkirk—at least, when it came to how much clothing they still wore. His hands slid down and then tugged at the waistband of Newkirk’s trousers insistently.

“Get these off,” Hogan breathed. Newkirk just grinned and muffled whatever Hogan was trying to say with more kisses. After a few muffled sentences Hogan got a hand between their lips. “Really?” 

Newkirk didn’t respond, not verbally at least. He licked the hand covering his mouth and when that disappeared to be wiped off on the sheets he nipped at Hogan’s lower lip and then trailed kisses down to the juncture of jaw and neck, which he sucked at as much as he dared without leaving a mark. Though Hogan’s mouth was technically unoccupied it took him a while to get his voice back.

“Newkirk, you’re not making it easy for me to concentrate.”

“Who said I was trying to make it easy on you?”

Hogan started running his fingers through Newkirk’s hair. It was a dirty tactic but Newkirk refused to ease up on what he was doing. Hogan huffed. “Fine. If you’re going to make this _hard_ on me then do in fewer layers.”

“I’m keen on what we’re doing right now,” Newkirk said, picking himself up on his elbows so he could look the other man in the eye. Not that he wasn’t aching for it, but he was strangely unwilling to move things along just yet. “It’s... nice, being able to linger.”

Hogan rubbed the back of his fingers against Newkirk’s cheek and smiled that small, genuine smile that few ever got to see. Hogan grinned, he smirked, he sneered, any upturn of the corners of his mouth was usually sarcastic or sometimes even cruel. What Newkirk was seeing was the real thing, and it added to the feeling of floating domestic delight that was at once both comfortable and smothering. Newkirk still had no idea what either of them thought they were doing.

“It is nice,” Hogan murmured, pulling Newkirk from his thoughts, “but I’d rather linger a little further on down the line.”

Newkirk chuckled and leaned into the touch. “You Americans. Only ‘ave a single thought in your ‘eads.”

“Apple pie?”

“Sex.”

“If it’s made right there’s not a lot of difference.”

“Where do you go to learn ‘ow to make sex right?”

Hogan glared at Newkirk. Then he grabbed a pillow and hit Newkirk upside the head with it.

“You’ll learn right _here_ if you ever get on with it.”

Newkirk was still having entirely too much fun with his frustrated lover. He put on his best cheeky grin and refused to move. “Is apple pie really as good as sex?”

Hogan let his head fall back against the bed as he groaned in exasperation. “In the time it takes you to finish this train of thought I could go to the kitchen and make one.”

“You know ‘ow to make a pie, sir?”

“It’s been a while, but I should be able to remember it. With as long as you’re taking I’d have the time to mess it up a couple times so we’re covered.”

Without giving any warning Newkirk leaned in and sucked hard on a patch of skin just above the collarbone. Hogan’s surprised gasp quickly turned into a moan loud enough that Newkirk reached up to cover his lover’s mouth before continuing. He knew from experience that the spot was not only sensitive but also low enough to be covered by a buttoned collar, so Newkirk didn’t have to hold back. He didn’t pull back until there was a nice pink mark on the Colonel’s neck.

“Yeah,” Newkirk managed through the pounding of his own pulse. “I think I’m ready to move it down the line.”

He rolled off Hogan in a maneuver that was less than graceful but in his defense his legs weren’t working too well. Luckily his goal was only the bedside table and Newkirk crawled over and leaned over the edge of the bed to get to it. As soon as he touched the drawer handle he froze and bit his lip; turnabout was fair play and Hogan was trailing wet, hot kisses between Newkirk’s shoulder blades and on down the line of his spine. 

“Mmph,” Newkirk his groan by pressing his mouth to his arm. “Cheating, that is.”

Hogan’s words were muffled as his lips were still pressed to Newkirk’s back, but it sounded as though he said ‘all’s fair’. Newkirk felt another rush of confusing heat; he doubted that Hogan was talking about war. Not that either of them had ever talked about the other thing, hadn’t even said the word, but like the little unnecessary touches they indulged in when in public it was there.

Newkirk made a renewed effort to get into the bedside table. It had belonged to him before the move; once they picked out the queen size bed ‘for the Colonel’ together they decided that Newkirk’s bedroom furniture was a better match for the new frame. Or rather, it was a combined effort on the part of Mavis and oddly enough Carter insisting that they make some attempt at consistent style in the flat. It was helpful that the table was originally Newkirk’s because he knew exactly where the jar was, pushed to the back corner of the bottom drawer behind the case where he kept his barber’s scissors...

There was nothing for it. Newkirk slapped a hand to his forehead and started laughing.

It wasn’t until he touched the inside of the _empty_ drawer that Newkirk remembered that he had dumped all the contents of the drawers into boxes for the move. While the two of them had of course christened their new bed as soon as the rambunctious moving party had cleared the door and they’d had a perfectly acceptable number of trysts since then, none had gone in that direction and so they hadn’t yet had cause to reach for that little jar. Newkirk remembered dumping the contents of the drawers in with something but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what. And so he laughed at the absurdity of the situation while Hogan froze above him.

“Do I _want_ to know?” Hogan asked at last. Newkirk tried to answer but the laughter won out over his voice. The mattress dipped as Hogan shifted his weight and leaned over the side of the bed. “Oh, for—and you’re laughing about this?”

The incensed tone only fed Newkirk’s mirth. Hogan growled in frustration and moved to his side to better get off the bed without landing on his lover.

“Do you have any idea where you packed it?” he asked and received no answer. “Where in the hell did I pack _mine_ , for that matter?”

Hogan started towards the door, grumbling about labeling boxes and how two men who found secret air bases and munitions dumps should be able to find one of the two jars of petroleum jelly that had to be somewhere in the apartment they’d shared for almost a month. Newkirk managed to get himself together enough to scramble up and pull his lover back by the waistband of his pants. I his rush he tugged a little too enthusiastically and Hogan ended up falling back on the bed.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Yes, gov’, I think it was,” Newkirk said with only a little bit of a chuckle. He pulled and pushed the other man until he got some cooperation and got Hogan sitting sideways across his lap. “You said it yourself; we don’t know where it’s stashed.”

Hogan glared and had no part of Newkirk’s attempts to steal a kiss. “Well then let’s get looking for it.”

“And then spend an hour or more digging through every box until we—maybe—find it and then ‘ope we’re not too tired to enjoy it?”

“I don’t know about you but I’m never that tired,” Hogan grumbled, but from the look on his face Newkirk could tell he’d already won.

“Did I ever tell you how cute you look when you pout?”

Hogan pulled himself up and looked like he might have had something to say in response to that comment, and it probably wouldn’t have been favorable in regards to his lover’s choice of the word ‘cute’, but Newkirk distracted him by helpfully adjusting the bulge in his pants. Hogan remained more or less upright, steadied by an arm around his lover’s shoulders, and Newkirk took advantage of the position to whisper in Hogan’s ear.

“While ‘aving you face down in the pillows is a... _delightful_ notion, I’ve a few other ideas that don’t require getting up and going on a wild goose chase through the flat.”

“Oh?” Hogan’s free hand was stroking across Newkirk’s shoulder and neck in a way that meant business. “Tell me about your ideas.”

“Well...” Newkirk sucked on Hogan’s earlobe and then pulled back enough to blow cool air over it. He relished the shiver that earned. “All of these ideas start with getting out of the rest of our clothes.”

Hogan maneuvered around to kiss Newkirk. Hard. Newkirk took that as agreement. He pulled Hogan closer by way of an arm slung around his waist. Once again his practice as a pickpocket proved useful as he was able to undo the buttons of Hogan’s trousers one-handed without breaking the kiss. When he reached through the fly of Hogan’s underwear and fondled him skin to skin the officer pulled away as though burned and struggled to stand. Once Hogan had sure footing he started to push his pants and underwear off his hips but Newkirk caught his hands and then took over. He didn’t finish the job of undressing Hogan immediately though.

Newkirk took his time appreciating the man standing before him. He stuck around for more than Hogan’s looks, too, but they certainly did factor into it. Hogan had gained weight since the war—still very much fit but with some softness around his belly—for which Newkirk was glad. One of the things he remembered about their one intimate encounter in Stalag 13 was how the Colonel’s ribs stood out. It had been a surprise because Hogan didn’t look thin, but that was just the way he was built. He wasn’t so far gone to consider it an immediate medical concern, but it was enough for Newkirk to worry. They ate decently enough, all things considered, but LeBeau couldn’t cook every meal and there was only so much nourishment in the regulation POW fare. However, at the time Newkirk had suspected that it was less about what was available and more about how much stress Hogan was under—something which he considered proven when in the subsequent weeks he paid close attention to how little Hogan would spoon onto his plate. Now, years later with everything going to hell again, Newkirk had made it a personal mission to ensure that Hogan didn’t get to that point again. Anytime he saw Hogan shirtless and at a solidly healthy weight Newkirk felt pleased. Sometimes he felt like a naggy nanny and on occasion Hogan called him as much, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. He had a feeling that Hogan didn’t mind it all that much either.

Hogan was built solid, practically a straight line from shoulder to ankle, and Newkirk liked the way his lover was a compliment to his own slimmer physique. Loathe as he was to admit it Newkirk did have the hips for the amount of cross-dressing he had to do during the war. LeBeau might have been a little old lady often enough, but with him it was wrapped up in three shawls and only where the Krauts would see him from a distance. Newkirk’s version of the batty old hag was the one used when talking was involved. The whole reason they did that was to avoid suspicion, and it’s a bloody good thing no one ever caught on, but Newkirk would have almost wished that _someone_ gave the idea of him being a woman a second glance. Not that Newkirk minded his own build, which was certainly masculine enough when there wasn’t a skirt, nylons, and a ridiculous German falsetto involved. He particularly didn’t mind since his waist sloped at an angle which facilitated Hogan’s hands resting comfortably and pleasantly just above his hips. But Hogan being stockier was a nice contrast. Less to be bored about when one’s lover had all the same parts as you.

As he toyed with a pair of belt loops Newkirk couldn’t help but picture the sight Hogan made the first time any of them had to wear skirts. With his broad shoulders and decidedly unfeminine lack of any curve and that horrible yellow sweater—it was a certifiable miracle that Schultz was the only one who noticed. While Newkirk had been absolutely livid at the time and an impressive shouting match had followed as soon as they were back in uniform, that was years ago and a lot of water under the bridge. Sitting there on the edge of a bed he shared with only one person, with that man standing in front of him half-naked and half-aroused, looking at him like _that_... he couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Hogan stroked Newkirk’s jaw and smiled back. Newkirk’s smile turned from one of distant amusement to deep fondness.

Newkirk leaned in to kiss Hogan’s stomach as he finally pushed his lover’s trousers down to his knees. While Hogan had been impatient earlier he stood there without complaint as Newkirk took his time. As soft lips trailed along the edge of his underwear Hogan ran a hand through his lover’s hair—a precursor to what was to come. Newkirk smiled against Hogan’s hip and made his kisses a little wetter. Hogan’s low groan was incredibly gratifying, and Newkirk slid a hand down to tend to himself. He glanced up and saw how intently Hogan was watching that development and Newkirk leaned back to offer a better show. It didn’t last long, though, because as enjoyable as it was to have all of Hogan’s attention on the attention Newkirk was paying himself it would be even more enjoyable to see that focus shatter. 

Hogan closed his eyes when his lover finally—finally—drew his underwear down to join the half-of trousers. Newkirk watched the colonel’s face and tried to gauge how much more teasing either of them would be able to stand. He wanted this man so badly but he also wanted to draw it out. Even living together their schedules wouldn’t always align to allow for slow foreplay. Newkirk wanted a lot of time to savor. So, even though Newkirk desperately wanted to take the shortest path to his lover biting back a moan that was his name, he instead leaned in and started laying open-mouthed kisses across Hogan’s stomach. While the two men had to be careful about leaving any marks on each other’s necks the same concerns didn’t apply elsewhere, and Newkirk took great pleasure in leaving a hickey on the line of his lover’s hipbone. Hogan, for his part, closed his eyes and tilted his head back while making an obvious effort to control his breathing. The way he was petting his lover’s hair fell into the same rhythm as his breaths, and Newkirk waited until those hands were trembling ever so slightly with barely leashed desire before he finally put his lips to the base. Hogan’s fingers curled in the other man’s hair. Newkirk dragged his mouth up to the dip, dragging his cheek along the side as he did. Hogan groaned and tightened his grip to the point of tugging. Newkirk leaned back and grinned up at his lover.

“Enjoying yourself, gov’ner?”

Hogan didn’t respond right away. He sighed, he chuckled, then he looked down at Newkirk with a sly grin. “What would give you an idea like that?”

Newkirk’s answer came by way of licking along the underside. Hogan swallowed hard and stroked his lover’s face, his other hand still tangled in Newkirk’s hair.

“I love the way you do this,” Hogan murmured.

“You fancy the way I look down here?” Newkirk leaned into Hogan’s hand. Every point of contact with the other man burned.

“You look incredible no matter what you’re doing.”

Newkirk was no stranger to Hogan’s brand of manipulative flattery. He knew Hogan inside and out. That’s how Newkirk knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there wasn’t an ounce of deceit in his lover’s voice. It was heady knowledge, even though it wasn’t anything Hogan hadn’t told him before, and Newkirk felt a fresh wave of heat travel over him. He went to work without answering, at least, not verbally. He kissed the tip, then licked, then took Hogan into his mouth as far as he could manage without gagging and sucked as he withdrew. The fingers in Newkirk’s hair curled enough to bring the tugging to the edge of painful before loosening once more. He knew how much effort it was costing Hogan to let him move on his own. He knew that Hogan liked to take control when it was a man kneeling before him, but Hogan also knew how much Newkirk hated being manhandled like that. Newkirk had never had a lover who’d known him so well. 

Hogan’s breathing grew more and more ragged until finally he reached the breaking point. It was the only time he used Newkirk’s hair as a handle as he pulled the other man’s head back and away. Newkirk obliged, with one last teasing kiss, and sat as patiently as he could while Hogan took a step back and kicked off his trousers and underwear. He drank in the sight of Hogan, naked and fully aroused, and spread his knees in anticipation when Hogan sank to the floor. They kissed hungrily and Hogan’s hands were everywhere. Newkirk moaned into the kiss and had to pull away for breath when those wandering hands finally landed on his half-unbuttoned fly. Hogan wasted no time on finesse and pulled what remained of Newkirk’s clothes off in one quick and efficient move. Hogan was getting into the serious part of turned on, the point where he’d look at Newkirk like there was nothing in creation he’d rather be looking at. Newkirk reveled in it.

Everything went still except the thudding of Newkirk’s heart when Hogan took him in hand. It all went electric when Hogan leaned down and _sucked_. Everything narrowed down to ragged breathing and every place that skin met skin. Newkirk bit his lip to keep from moaning too loud as Hogan worked him over without pause or mercy. It was always beyond intense when Hogan got like this, when he wanted to see Newkirk wrecked. It was like being run over by a tank and being hit by an exploding train all at once and loving every second of it. Newkirk buried his hands in thick black hair and held on for dear life. He tried to nudge his lover off when he was getting too close but Hogan was having none of that. Newkirk found himself being shoved further up onto the bed and with a little difficulty he managed to get his head on the pillows. Hogan got Newkirk’s trousers off and then knelt between his lover’s legs. With a heated grin Hogan ran his hands up both of Newkirk’s legs, nice and slow, before settling in sitting on his heels and spitting into his palm.

“God, yes,” Newkirk moaned as that slicked hand closed around him and started moving _fast_. “You’ve alw—ah—ways been impatient, sir.”

“Is that so?” Hogan asked carelessly, grin still firmly in place. He knew exactly what he was doing to the other man and he was definitely enjoying it.

“Always getting in everyone’s personal space, always, heh,” Newkirk stretched into the touch, “always on me the second we’re be’ind closed doors.”

“Can’t help it, Peter,” Hogan paused long enough to lean down and kiss Newkirk breathless. “Can’t keep my hands off you.”

“Then get your hands back on me,” Newkirk growled into Hogan’s mouth.

Hogan leaned back and saluted. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Newkirk grabbed at Hogan’s free hand. “Please, _Rob_ , I’m close...”

Hogan pulled his arm free and clamped his hand over Newkirk’s mouth just in time to muffle his cries.

“You’ve always been so loud,” Hogan groaned low as he jerked himself off in earnest. “When this all blows over we need to take a vacation. Get out somewhere, some cabin out in the middle of nowhere.” He removed his hand from Newkirk’s mouth and braced himself on the bed, leaning over his lover as he gasped. Newkirk reached up to caress Hogan’s chest. “Somewhere that we don’t have to... hold...”

Hogan bit his lip when he came and he added to the mess already painting Newkirk’s stomach. For a minute or so Hogan hovered above his lover before he finally got to wobbly and let himself down to lay on top of Newkirk.

“Mph, ‘eavy,” Newkirk grumbled, but there was no real irritation behind it. He stroked Hogan’s back and kissed any patch of skin he could reach, which at the moment was mostly Hogan’s neck. After he got his breath back Hogan shifted for more effective post-orgasmic snogging. They carried on with that for a good, long, unhurried while.

“I like this,” Newkirk said at last. Hogan had squirmed down to kiss Newkirk’s chest. “Taking time. ‘ow is it we spent a month in this flat and ‘and’t figured this out?”

“Habit,” Hogan replied with a shrug. “But I think we’ve got it down now.”

“Not that this wasn’t absolutely lovely, but we need to make a supply run.” Newkirk played with Hogan’s hair. “I’d like to ‘old you to some of the things you said up against the door earlier.”

Hogan chuckled. “Oh, yes. _Soon_.”


End file.
